S/he got tired of it all, of all the manners and bottles they’d made up through the ages, only to survive. S/he could feel everything bottled up when they were, and s/he longed to crack those bottles as much as the sum of all bottled humans on Earth and moon and the periphery. So s/he decided to leave this world be and made another one, with all the axioms and evolution and survival toppled for the sake of bottle cracking. S/he let everyone scream when in need and punch where the bottle filled up, chop out body parts at whim and bite mouths off in frustration, and s/he let there be no regret, heaven, hell, eternity. And s/he sat back, at peace with wild expression of no hindrance, enjoying the hymn of the cracks. And the other world sat still, forgotten, left behind, billions of bottles in stock and tons being added still. An oblivious god s/he was, an oblivious god.